


What's left of innocence

by Cayenne



Category: Tanz der Vampire - Steinman/Kunze
Genre: M/M, post-musical, so this is a thing I guess, vampire!alfred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:03:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cayenne/pseuds/Cayenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't hunt a prey that won't run."</p>
<p>Or, the dark-ish side of Alfred being a vampire. Slightly angsty headcanon one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's left of innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, so if you find any mistakes, well.
> 
> I should say I'm sorry for this.

Isn’t it fascinating, watching them change?

Watching the light fade out, the sound of joy dying it it’s echo? Watching the smile disappear from that beautiful young face, that heroic will and naive determination to be the good one leaving a young man?

Alfred had changed, and Herbert wasn’t sure if he liked it.

His chérie was no longer a shy little boy, blushing and stuttering and waking that old desire, that old curse of taking lifes.

Taking happiness.

You can’t hunt a prey that won’t run.

He was no longer a prey, nor a toy or a pet to take his boredom. He was anything but a distraction for Herbert, now that he lived in the castle, now that his presence hung in the dark rooms.

Alfred was always there. Never to be heard - it was almost as if the bite had taken his voice along with it, preventing him from speaking when he wasn’t spoken to. Never to be seen, hiding in corners or empty rooms, fleeing from anyone who could scare him away. Never actually responding to Herbert’s constant attempt to gain his attention, never showing any sign of indulgement, never telling him to stop. Never initiating anything, with no-one.

Still, Alfred was always there. And he kept doing these.. things.

Herbert wasn’t sure how to describe them, and he would cling to them even though his mind told him they didn’t have any meaning.

That it had no meaning when Alfred stayed to listen to him, even though he rarely answered. That is was a coincidence that their eyes met when Herbert turned to look at him. That he imagined feeling dark eyes following his movements whenever he was in the same room with Alfred. That he must have mistaken that faint smile on the younger vampire’s lips, or the brush of a hand against his, or that nearly inaudible snort commenting on his overexitement for most things. He was sure Alfred didn’t mean to tease him with his rare comments that left him questioning their intention, or his admirable way of weighing out every word so that it could made Herbert misinterpreted it as a compliment every time.

But, so he told himseld every time he was left with pure confusion, they had no meaning. Not for him. 

 

* * *

 

 

And isn’t he surprised when Alfred comes to his room one night and kisses him before he can ask what brought him there.

And isn’t it wonderful how the boy clings to him when he is allowed to respond with all his affection, pulling him closer, never close enough.

Still far, and never close enough.

It’s nothing like making love, that night. It’s rough, and hungry, and desperate for feeling, anything but the cold inside. It’s hands roaming over bare skin, lips so soft they chase away every thought of what’s right and wrong. It’s whispering _mine_ over and over again, and hasn’t he always been one to keep the pretty things for himself.

All his.

All beautiful, all his, and right there, moaning his name with the most paralizying voice he’s ever heard.

It’s agressive, and posessive, and everything that’s left of innocence spoiled with a single kiss.

And hasn’t he always been one to destroy what’s pure and good.

Alfred’s head rests on his unbeating heart now. So beautiful. So close.

Never close enough. 

 

* * *

His lover will wake up to kisses, that other night.

One kiss on each bruise, each mark left on what once has been sacred.

And he will stay.

For that whole night, it will only be them.

Stories told about living days long left behind. Patterns drawn on the other’s cold skin, touches so sweet as if they spoke of love. 

* * *

Do vampires love?

Alfred says so, right before falling asleep in Herbert’s arms.

But hasn’t he always been one to imagine what he can’t have.

Hasn’t he always been one to long for what he can’t have?

 

When the sun sets again, Alfred is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a longer fic for this headcanon, because obviously I'm in love with dark!Alfred, so stick around maybe?
> 
> I'd be embarrassingly grateful for a little feedback :)


End file.
